the tales and trials of a twenty-something

Category Archives: Adult Life

I turned 23 last Wednesday. That’s just about the most boring sentence I’ve ever written. As I had mentioned in one of my previous posts, my next exciting birthday is going to be 25 because I can rent a car without paying an extra fee. It’s funny how subjective the word “exciting” is. Funny or depressing. Either way, I’m looking forward to that.

Ostensibly, my birthday is still relevant given the amount of heartfelt ‘happy birthdays’ I am still receiving via my Facebook wall and my actual face. People have suddenly become so interested in my social life just because it’s the 23rd anniversary of me getting shoved out of my mother’s hoo-hah. However genuine their intrigue with me may seem, it is fleeting. Everyone seems to lose interest at about the same time:

Person: Hey! Oh my God happy birthday!

Me: Thanks <insert name>.

Person: So what did you do for birthday? Are you like still hungover?!

Me: I got dinner with my dad, step-mom and grandma. It was really nice.

Person: Oh. That’s nice.

Me: Yeah, it was really nice.

Person: That’s nice.

<Fin>

That’s generally how all of those conversations go. My last four birthdays fell during Spring Break (back when “Spring Break” existed) so those were a little less tame than this year, but I was extremely happy with how my birthday went this year (like you care). I got lunch, went to one of my favorite museums and then had dinner with my family. I had work the next morning so grandma and I had to take it easy with the white wine spritzers.

As for gifts, my two roommates (bare with me) got me a cleaning lady. I think this may have been the moment they were waiting for to hire a cleaning lady without insulting me as the head of the maintenance staff in our apartment. It perhaps also rid them of some guilt that they don’t really do much of the cleaning anyway, so this just made everything easier. One of my roommates also got a pair of Knicks tickets that he’s giving me. Yes I am taking him to the game with me. Overall, I’d say my birthday was nice, but was pretty much like any other day.

In college, I always wanted to do a study on the difference between OCD and superstition. I feel that people with OCD or with superstitions believe that if they don’t perform a certain ritual or wear a certain dirty sock on their left foot (for example) that something bad is going to happen to someone they love, their team, or themselves.

Here, let me bore you with some definitions. The United States National Library of Medicine defines OCD as,

“An anxiety disorder in which people have unwanted and repeated thoughts, feelings, ideas, sensations (obsessions), or behaviors that make them feel driven to do something (compulsions).”

“Often the person carries out the behaviors to get rid of the obsessive thoughts, but this only provides temporary relief. Not performing the obsessive rituals can cause great anxiety.”

Dictionary.com defines superstition as,

“Irrational fear of what is unknown or mysterious, especially in connection with
religion. (Fear of the unknown also known as anxiety)

“A belief or notion, not based on reason or knowledge, in or of the ominous significance of a particular thing, circumstance, occurrence, proceeding, or the like.”

Aside from various social stigmas, I won’t get into what differences are (probably because they would refute me), but it sounds to me that both compulsions and superstitions arise from valuable, convenient, coincidences thusly rendering them tangibly useless.

Wow. What was even the point of all of that?

As an athlete and sports fan, I am superstitious. When I played volleyball, if we won a match, I would wear the same pair of socks (after washing them) until we lost and the socks lost their spark. Athletes also have certain routines whether they’re shooting a free throw, serving a volleyball, or about to take an at bat in baseball. Seriously, watch any baseball game and you’ll see the batters un-velcro their gloves, then re-velcro them, then spit, then hit their foot with the bat, then blink 4 times, then spin in a circle, then curtsy, but I digress. I’ve come to realize that I have picked up various superstitions or rituals when it comes to applying for jobs. Perhaps being superstitious or compulsive or WHATEVER is what is deterring me from greatness. Therefore, I am going to stop thinking I can control every freggin’ aspect of my life (and other people’s lives for that matter). Ohhhh, so that’s what my dad pays my therapist for. See, things are already coming together.

Okay I’ll start now.

I have an interview, Friday. See, old me would have thought revealing such information would jinx my chances. Also, I’m getting a haircut today so that’s pretty big. I guess we’ll see if it all works. Wait; is explicitly not having superstitions another form of a superstition? Shit damn it.

If companies are only looking for interns currently pursuing an undergrad degree and are only looking for full-time employees with 5-10+ years experience, then what the heck are recent grads with three internships under their belt supposed to do?!

Thank you.

Please feel free to provide some insight to this burning question. My rent and sanity depend on it.

I’ve decided that once I get a big-girl job, I’m going to write a book entitled, “How To Get Hired Without Standing Up.”

To put it gently, my internship is very low maintenance, low-demand, boring. It’s at a production studio so perhaps the laction (lack of action) is circumstantial. I ask my supervisors for things to do, but they never have anything to give me despite how busy they all claim they are. Maybe they think I’m stupid. Either way, I am here every other day with eight hours to kill (including my lunch hour, thank god).

Lately, I’ve started posting articles on BuzzFeed which has proven to kill the first half of my day pretty seamlessly. I posted an article on Monday which since then has gone viral on Facebook and Twitter and currently has close to 45,000 views. All I did was take screen-shots of Google automatic fill-ins. I literally did nothing to contribute to it besides compiling them and posting them. I guess that’s what counts these days. I’ve recently achieved the accolade of Top 50 Community Contributors (whatever that means). My best friend and g-chat counterpart sent me a job posting to work for BuzzFeed as a blogger/editor. I said, why the hell not and applied for the job. I’ve done all of this in a chair. I’m anxiously awaiting to hear back from the BuzzFeeders.

I’ve been at this internship since December and have applied close to 30 jobs. I’ve applied through LinkedIn and through company websites. I’ve had email correspondences with recruiters and the like. Most of the jobs I applied for were for corporate companies through a generic generated form so I don’t expect to hear back unless someone falls asleep at their computer, smacks their head on the keyboard and by some stroke of odd luck, wakes up to my resume on their screen. I have had some luck with this process though. As fairly well-known digital advertising agency contacted me for a phone interview (which went well) and then they called me in for an in-person interview (which I thought was to seal the deal), but they decided to hire from within or freeze the position or something whatever. It didn’t work out, but if anything, it proved that when a pair of eyes got on my resume, it was impressive enough for an interview. Imagine a world where humans dealt with resumes right off the bat. I’d have like 50 jobs. I hate robots. I’d say my record for the job hunt is a soft 1 for 1. I didn’t get the job, but that wasn’t due to me. At least that’s what I tell myself when I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.

I’m not really sure if applying to more jobs heightens my chances of getting a human to look at my resume, but while I’m here, sitting doing nothing, I might as well.

I was riding the subway a few days ago, and I saw that the nine-year-old boy next to me was playing Slots on his phone. I have to say, that has to be the least gratifying thing in the world. I mean, you “pull” the lever and then, best case scenario, you get three in a row and you win absolutely nothing. I was so frustrated for the kid, and he was having the time of his life. Despite, my instant cynicism, the dumbass on the subway proved that things are as good as what you make of them. He could have been sitting on the subway staring at the person staring at him (me), but instead he was playing Slots and enjoying his ride.

I thought I was an “in the moment” kind of person, but lately I’ve been stuck fantasizing about the future and dreading the present. No bueno. At this rate, I will literally enjoy nothing ever. I have been demoting myself to strive for satisfaction rather than gratification (as a point of reference, in my dictionary, to satisfy is to settle and to gratify is to indulge and enjoy – one step beyond satisfaction I guess). Hmmm, so how to enjoy two unrewarding “jobs” and the broke (not the poor) life? For starters every day, I’m going to achieve satisfaction and strive for gratification. I should stop myself here. I’m not one of those people that can just change their cynical and self-deprecating ways. I’m far too stubborn for that, and comical self-deprecation is kind of my thing. Not trying to give that up. So for now, I’ll just make sure to write a little every day so when people ask me what I’m doing, I can say I’m a writer without feeling guilty enough to correct myself and say, “Well I’m a struggling writer, except I haven’t struggled yet, since I haven’t submitted anything to anyone, and I’m not a starving writer because I’m always eating.” Then I just come off as a fat-ass, which is fine. I’ll just tell people that I can’t afford to be a writer yet. Better yet, I’ll say that I’m saving up to become a writer.

I’m going to attempt to enjoy THE RIDE (full circle blog post; don’t act like you’re not impressed) that is my life as a 22 year-old, living in Manhattan, with no man tying her down. GIRL POWER! HOLLA! PEACE!

A couple of months ago my restaurant was hired to cater an off-site event. I was “asked” by my manager to work as a cater waiter at the event. She said, “Okay, it’s going to be you, Ronnie, Jasmine, and Myya working the event for Details Magazine.” That’s one classy sounding group of girls if you ask me. She said, “wear black v-necks and dark jeans that are you know…” – she then did an hour-glass motion with her hands. Containing my superfluous armory of snark, I flared my nostrils, pursed my lips, gave a long blink, and nodded my head.

One week later, and the event arrived. We walked from Rockefeller Center to a nearby clothing store. Between the four of us, two had to be “bartenders” and two had to be the servers. On par with my dearth of luck, I was the server. As I was walking through the crowd of people with my tray of jalapeño poppers, I saw a guy I went to high school with. At the moment, all I could remember about him was that he went to college at my safety school (along with 15% of my graduating class) and he once got a ticket for public urination. He’s not the first person I’ve run into while wearing my waitress costume, but seeing him triggered a brief rumination and infuriation that can be summed up in, “How the fuck do you have a real person job? This is bullshit.” Despite my efforts to avoid him, he approached me and astutely inquired, “What are you doing here?” Containing my superfluous armory of snark, I flared my nostrils, pursed my lips, gave a long blink, and gave a polite response.

While I cannot give insight as to why he has a job and I do not, I can provide the moral of this story. That is, that dumber people will inevitably be successful before I am, and I will learn to deal with it as it happens – probably by deactivating my Facebook account. On the upside, it makes for a good story.

On the next episode of “I Do Nothing at My Internship”: Danielle recounts her co-servers story about his time working at Bubba Gump Shrimp.

I think it would be fun to produce an award show. Actually that would be too stressful. I want to be the person that gets to laugh and say, “Oh they looked pissed, cut to them!” The position would require someone who is up to date with their celebrity gossip so when Tina Fey says, “You know what Taylor Swift, you stay away from Michael J. Fox’s son…she needs some “me time” to learn about herself,” you can assume Taylor Swift is going to HATE it and everyone else wants to see her reaction. I don’t know the technical name for this position, but I think I’ll call it the Puss Spotter. A Puss Spotter also needs to be prepared. He/She needs to be able to anticipate a joke. For example, after Jodie Foster’s long-ass therapy session speech, a good Puss Spotter should expect a joke from the host such as, “Just making sure…Jodie Foster is a lesbian, right” – or something of that nature.

Watching all of my dream women on stage last night reinvigorated my fading dream to be a comedy writer. When I moved to Manhattan in July, I was energized, inspired, and confident. I had an idea of what I wanted to do with my life, but working at the restaurant started to depress me and caused me to change my dream. It seemed like being a successful television writer was impossible at worst and unrewarding at best. I decided to walk the streets dreamless and just see what happens. I cannot say one way or the other which I prefer – having a dream to work towards or to keep truckin’ and hope a dream will appear without even realizing it. I guess I’ll let you know once I know.

I can say this though with great confidence, it is better to be dreamless and hopeful than dreamful and hopeless. I have been both.

This may sound dramatic which, if you ask any of my friends, is a word no one would use to describe me, but I was almost brought to tears the two times Lena Dunham walked to the stage to accept her well-deserved Golden Globes: 1) Because watching her waddle in her heels TWICE was as painful as getting toothpaste in your eye and 2) Because of her genuine gratitude and humbleness She’s the woman!

The combination of Amy Poehler and Tina Fey delivering on their hosting duties, Lena Dunham and Adele winning has resulted in a dream reinspired– a word that Microsoft word does not recognize, because it isn’t a real word and also hasn’t been added in my Word dictionary yet. Glad I can add it. Now the question is, “where to start?”

The process of interviewing for a job is a lot like being on the show, “The Voice.”

Thanks to YouTube, your talents are recognized and they invite you to audition

With their backs facing you, you perform so they can hear you “sing”

If they liked what they heard, their chairs turn around so they can look at you

Then they put you on the show

You lose or…

You win and no one hears from you again

On the off chance that Christina Aguilera and Cee-Lo aren’t vying for your vocal chords, the job process goes as follows:

Your parents tell you to apply for a job

You go onto LinkedIn

You apply for a job

If you aren’t a complete fuck-up, you get an email asking when they can call you for a phone interview

If the phone interview goes well, they invite you to come into the office and meet with the people you would potentially be working with

Then they drag it out for two weeks and tell you that they decided to hire someone internally

Rinse (cry) and repeat

Step 6 happened yesterday.

I wish I didn’t have to hold back and be professional when talking with recruiters/interviewers. I want to be real with them and be able to say, “Listen sister (or brother), Let’s not beat around the bush here. No one likes bullshit. I’m not going to apply for a job that I am underqualified for and you wouldn’t have brought me in here if you didn’t think I was qualified. I know you know I’m not stupid. I will do this job better than anyone else. I’m a buried fucking treasure. You can take my word for it. Thank you.” Maybe I’ll change my cover letter to just that followed by my second favorite quote when it comes to writing*,

“Vigorous writing is concise. A sentence should contain no unnecessary words, a paragraph no unnecessary sentences, for the same reason that a drawing should have no unnecessary lines and a machine no unnecessary parts. This requires not that the writer make all his sentences short, or that he avoid all detail and treat his subjects only in outline, but that every word tell.”

-William Strunk Jr., Elements of Style

I think my next blog post will just be a screenshot of my resume.

* My first favorite quote regarding writing is by one of my favorite authors, KV, “Here is a lesson in creative writing. First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you’ve been to college.”

Wow the New Year! Big things are happening. My apartment smells like New Years Day – stale sex and Fritos. In my last post, I talked about how life would feel more balanced once my adult life retained certain parts of my college life. Well, considered me balanced. I’m sitting on my living room* on my carpet** next to our Christmas tree typing this blog post while listening in on the profound conversational stylings of my 5 guy friends (two of whom are my roommates, one of whom is my ex-boyfriend):

Gabe: We shouldn’t be shit heads today

Collective groan

Nathan: I don’t know whose jacket this is but I’m snuggling with it

Gabe: Don’t cum on it, Nathan

Ezra: Who wants to see Les Mis?

Tyler: We should go bowling. We should go skeet shooting.

Gabe: I’m making us dinner reservations.

Tyler: We should play ping-pong…

And so on and so forth. This is my life.

I woke up this morning with my best friend in my bed, wearing the same dress she was wearing last night. When I opened my eyes she asked, “Why is this part of the bed wet?” I didn’t respond and went back to sleep. Three hours later, I wake up again, walk into my living room to find the previously mentioned guys – one on the recliner, one on the couch and one sleeping upright.

One of my roommates kept some of us awake with some ungodly sex noises last night/this morning. “It was like National Geographic but I couldn’t change the channel,” recalled Ezra. I decided that he owed all seven of us a nice bagel shmorgishborg for breakfast.

Currently, the boys and myself are each holding a piece of paper with a number on it. The number represents our spot in line for the shower. My roommate and his lady friend just finished their shower. As we all turned to look at them take the walk back to his bedroom*** Gabe said, “Only judgments await you out here!”

I don’t think this group is going anywhere today.

2013 is feeling a lot like college. The New Year has thus far kicked off with a promising start.

* You have to form a single file line if more than one person plans on walking through it

**Our carpet is actually those foam puzzle pieces that day cares use because they’re easy to clean/remove when a two year old pees on it. We have it for the same reason.

*** We converted our actual living room into a bedroom, so the only things separating our makeshift living room from his bedroom, are a bookshelf and a curtain. Both have proven to be ineffective as noise barriers.